Stains
by Trickster91
Summary: The war takes its toll on everyone mentally. Not even Cliffjumper can escape the illness that it brings. Full Ark related stand alone. Can be read by itself.


**Stains**

**Inspired by ****sky-byte-haikuDOTdeviantartDOTcom/gallery/#/d4y6fld  
**

**I was in the slumps for Full Ark, but seeing this picture helped give me more fuel to write a little something. I am not putting this in with 'Behind the Scenes' or an add on to 'The Winding Road' because I feel that it just wouldn't fit right now. Instead this is just a stand-alone story.**

**Transformers belong to Has/Tak  
**

**Jen belongs to Trickster91  
**

**Warnings: Delicate human/cybertronian fluff. Emphasis on delicate. Cause I'm a hopeless fangirl.**

As soon as Ratchet was done with him, Cliffjumper quickly and quietly left the med-bay to his room. He needed to compose himself. The mechs he passed kept to themselves knowing it was best to leave the red warrior when he was in a mood like this. He added more force than necessary to his code panel before the door slid open and treaded in with the door almost clipping his heel as it closed. Cliffjumper slowly gazed the wall adorn with his personal artillery. Optics getting lighter with rage the minbot's hand roughly tore a gun from its stand before throwing it across his room until it hit the back wall and broke in three different places. One of the pieces slid to his feet and Cliffjumper gave it a rough kick before slumping on his berth.

The last time he really felt like this was when he was a new recruit for the Autobot army. It was after his first full fledge battle. It was his first kill with his bare hands, literally. He remembered being in a really tight spot with a badly injured comrade by his side. His gun was nearly out of ammo and a Decpticon was right on top of them. He found himself tearing into the Decepticon's chest plate like it was butter and his hand went straight into his spark chamber. It was a horrible way to die, even for a Decepticon. Cliffjumper remembered the energon staining his hands. Even after he washed up he could still see it like a reminder.

Cliffjumper gave a haggard huff of his vents. He was practically numb to battles now. Numb to the point where he could be considered almost sadistic given the circumstance. Slag it to the Pit, he has been on numerous assassin missions and he never cringed at those. But today he cracked a bit and he couldn't fathom why. Could it have been do to the consent stress of being a living, breathing product of war? A small nagging voice in the back of his processor was telling him that there was another reason why he cracked right now.

A soft knock sounded at his door. Speak of the devil, he mentally grumbled and just laid there for a few more minutes. The knock never came again, but Cliffjumper knew she was still waiting. The door slid open when he got to it and Cliffjumper had to force himself not to glare down, but he was well aware he still looked peeved.

"What do you want?"

Jen looked up at him with a concern expression. Yet there was also a calm sternness to her gaze that had strength. Throughout her years at the Ark the dark blonde has certainly matured, Cliffjumper observed.

"Do you need company?" She asked it a soft manner and yet the minibot could have sworn there was a degree of demand in that sentence.

"I don't want company," he didn't mean to be brisk at her, but he was in a weird mood. He started to turn away, but tensed up when she replied back.

"I never said anything about want," now he knew there was a demand in her voice. "I asked if you _need_ it."

Cliffjumper actually bristled and turned back to face Jen with a glare. She was the problem. Jen never did anything wrong to him personally. The problem was that he deeply cared about her to the point that he felt ashamed of himself as he did way back then. And he hated that! To make it worse she lives with them and sees all this slag and never said anything about it.

Jen didn't even falter slightly with his glare. With that and looking into her gaze he knew she was dead serious. There was no pity behind her eyes. His optics that were harsh before then soften into defeat. He needed the company.

Once more in his room Cliffjumper helped Jen onto his berth and just sat there. Jen leaned into his side and both sat in silence for a couple minutes.

"I'm a monster," he nearly whispered gazing at his floor.

Jen rested her check on his arm. "No you're not."

Cliffjumper opened up his hand and just stared at his palm. Though the energon has been washed away he could still see it. It was a phantom reminder of what he has done, of what he was capable of.

His thoughts were interrupted when a small hand placed itself in his palm. Slowly he curled up his fingers and engulfed the miniature hand into his own. Cliffjumper then shifted his arm so that it was around Jen, and she was leaning against his chest. "What do you see in me?"

She was silent for a few minutes, no doubt thinking of a way to answer. She let out a small sigh of air, "I could ask you the same question." She closed her eyes, feeling the cool metal on her check. "We've all done things that we regret."

The warrior turned his head slightly; a sad imperceptible smile splayed his features as he gave the young woman a tender gaze. "I don't deserve you."

He felt her tense. "I just don't know what's going to happen to me when the war is over," Cliffjumper added softly. He has all but forgotten the feeling of a normal life.

Jen shifted and turned around to face Cliffjumper. His stare was almost blank when she reached up and kissed him gently under his right optic, and wrapped her arms around his neck with her face nestled in the crook of it. He leaned back against the wall as his arm came up to support her, refusing to let her go.

"We'll get through this together," her voice was a soft whisper full of emotion. "You won't be alone."

Cliffjumper brought his other arm around her and powered down his optics. He felt the figment hair-line crack getting bigger the longer this war remained. Chances are it was going to scar up and never go away. Still, he was comforted with the fact that he had someone to soothe his scars when they act up, but they'd never go away. He dimly on-lined his optics to look at his hands once last time. The stain was still there. Maybe one day they'll fade altogether.

But he'll still known it's there.


End file.
